


For What It's Worth

by lentezon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Background Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester - Freeform, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Prostitute Dean Winchester, Slow Build, background Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lentezon/pseuds/lentezon
Summary: The magic that used to cover the world like a blanket has long since receded, with Castiel as its only living remains. These days, people will grow old and die whether they have met their Soulmate or not. All of them, except for Cas.Until he meets a rather handsome prostitute.





	1. I. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> It's been 82 years... but I'm finally dusting off my writing skills, and I've been going through old ideas that catch my fancy again. This one was based on a prompt on Tumblr: I don't remember exactly, and I stupidly deleted my Tumblr a while ago, but it was something like "Soulmate AU where you don't grow older until you've met The One". But then--what happens if you don't?
> 
> The first chapter is a short prologue-type of thing, so I'm posting the first two in one go. Hope you'll enjoy!

_Balthazar found his soulmate._

_Castiel was happy for him, truly. Balthazar was his friend, despite their differences, and he had been waiting a long time for this. The blond may have joked about having all the time in the world to try every sexual position with any amount of people, a lot, but as Castiel watched him interact with a girl named Alicia—an unlikely pair if he ever saw one, if he were honest—he could see his friend light up like a lantern._

_So, really, there should be no reason Castiel was sitting at the edge of the lake next to which Balthazar’s party was held, instead of being at the actual party._

   “ _Cassie,” a voice said from behind him. “I’m sorry.”_

   “ _You have nothing to be sorry for,” Castiel said without even turning around. “You deserve this.” There was truth in his voice, and his friend took it as a sign to sit down next to him and push a mug into his hands filled with a liquid Castiel was sure was meant to inebriate him. “Drink up, you’ll feel better.”_

_They sat in silence for a while as Castiel nursed the drink. He wasn’t a great fan of alcohol, and he disliked drinking it too fast, but perhaps Balthazar was right; he felt like he could use it._

   “ _You’re probably sick of hearing it,” Balthazar said, unusually quietly, “but you know you’ll find your soulmate, right?”_

   “ _Yes.” If he did not have a soulmate, his body would not have stayed stuck on looking like twenty-something years old all this time. Besides, not having a soulmate was unheard of._

_Of course, that did not keep Castiel from fearing it, but he did not want to burden his friend with that on this day._

_Balthazar sighed. “Cassie, please. You’re my friend. I’d rather you talk to me right now than you don’t say anything and wallow in your unhappiness at my party, alright?”_

   “ _I do not want to burden you.”_

   “ _You don’t. You forget that I felt the same until not too long ago.”_

   “ _Yes, but you—” He made a hopeless gesture that he wasn’t sure of what it meant himself. He let out a frustrated breath. “How do you know?” he eventually settled on. Balthazar had not met Alicia very long ago, not long enough that Castiel had noticed him visibly aging._

   “ _It’s a feeling,” Balthazar said. “Not attraction—not in the same way I was attracted to people before.” He let out a small laugh, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile a little, too. Balthazar was attracted to anyone with breasts, really, and sometimes to people without them. Castiel had never understood that attraction to begin with._

   “ _What if it never happens to me?” he asked quietly. “I’ve never been attracted to anyone—that way. What if… what if there is a crack in my chassis? What if I never feel attracted to anyone at all?”_

   “ _Darling, there’s plenty of people who wait for their true Soulmate. You’re not alone. And hey, I’m not old yet. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”_

_Castiel smiled, even if he didn’t believe his friend. Not because he thought so little of Balthazar that he believed the man would walk away from their friendship because of a relationship—but Balthazar would grow old with Alicia, and Castiel would be stuck at the age of twenty forever. He’d seen it with Gabriel before. It didn’t work. Gabriel was off to somewhere in the East, to places Castiel had never heard of before, with his Soulmate, old and happy and with lives so different from any of theirs that catching up felt strange and nearly impossible._

   “ _Thank you,” he said anyway._

   “ _Anytime. Now come and enjoy. Who knows, you might find your Soulmate here.”_

_And so life goes on._


	2. II: The Middle, Part 1

   “I’d like to hand these back in.”

   Castiel looks up to see a boy around fourteen with a pile of books in his arms— _Dracula_ , _Pride and Prejudice_ , _Gossip Girl_. He distinctly remembers Charlie talking about an attractive guy checking out these exact books not too long ago. In fact, Castiel was the one who checked them out for this ‘attractive guy’; he just wasn’t paying much attention.

   Sometimes it’s hard to keep paying attention. Usually, he likes watching people. He likes guessing which person will take which books with them, and he even likes Charlie’s quiet commentary on the people that frequent their library. But some days, he feels too tired.

   People think that makes him uninterested, because they don’t understand what it’s like to have lived for centuries. He’s seen everything. He has met thousands of people, most of whom he has forgotten about, or made himself forget about. He has seen even more attractive people, but since none of them were _the one_ , he isn’t particularly interested anymore.

   He’d like to be like Charlie, who believes in flirting with every cute girl she sees and doesn’t particularly believe in ‘true love’—“As long as it feels good, it’s good, Cas.” But he cannot be like that, because he knows there is something bigger than that. Something better.

   At least, there used to be. The magic that used to cover the world like a blanket has long since receded, with Castiel as its only living remains. These days, people will grow old and die whether they have met their Soulmate or not.

   One day, a long time ago, Castiel would have pitied them. Now, he envies them.

   “Alright,” he says. “They’re under the name of Dean Winchester, is that correct?”

   “Yeah, that’s my brother. He got them for me when I was sick.”

   Castiel smiles. “That was nice of him. Did you enjoy the books?”

   The kid’s eyes light up at the question, like no one’s ever asked him before. “Yeah. Dean kept bugging me about reading ‘chick books’ like _Pride and Prejudice_ , and I get why he thinks it’s boring, but it’s really not if you put some thought in it.” He proceeds to ramble about why he likes Jane Austen’s writing style before realizing that he is rambling, and turns red. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

   Castiel’s smile just broadens. “Do what?”

   “Take up your time with my babbling. You probably have better things to do.”

   “Believe me—” Castiel looks at his card, “—Sam, I really do not.”

   “Oh,” Sam says, exhaling like that’s a relief to him. “Okay.”

   “You may ‘babble’ about books here all you like. It is, after all, a place dedicated to literature. It would be a shame to deprive these books of hearing all about how great they are.”

   Sam actually laughs at that. Castiel doesn’t tend to make a lot of jokes, because people don’t like his sense of humour, so it makes him happy that this boy does. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

   “Are you looking to find more books? I could, perhaps, recommend you some. I have read quite a lot of them.”

   That’s an understatement. Castiel may still look twenty years old, he’s lived for much, much longer than that. He’s had plenty of time to read all the classics, the popular books, and a lot of others that just seemed interesting to him at the time they came out. If he’s quite honest with himself, he may have read almost everything they have to offer in this library.

   “Dean will probably chew me out for it,” Sam says, “But yeah, I’d appreciate that.”

   “Why would your brother chew you out for reading?”

   “Because he claims I’m reading too much girl books—his words, not mine—instead of school books. Which is funny, because he’s the one who brought me _Gossip Girl_.”

   “Did you like _Gossip Girl_?” Castiel asks, genuinely wondering. He has, in fact read the book himself even though it didn’t fit his tastes very much. He prefers historical romances that he can imagine himself a character in, and then after reading a romance novel he likes to read something action-packed not because he is such a great fan of science fiction or horror or any of the other genres he picks for that goal, but because he needs to be distracted from the whole ‘romance’ aspect.

   Sam doesn’t look at him when he mutters, “Kinda, I guess.” His ears are red from what Castiel guesses is embarrassment.

   “They are very enjoyable books,” he says, even though he doesn’t really believe they are. He has the feeling Sam’s brother has been bugging him about it, though, and he won’t have that. Everyone should be able to read whatever they like, and like whatever they want.

   “I guess,” Sam says again. “I preferred the other ones, though. I’m trying to work my way through the classics now, but I haven’t gotten very far yet.”

   Castiel lets out a hum and walks Sam to their ‘Classics’ shelf. “Have you tried Jane Eyre yet? It is quite a popular title. It is a character-based book, more than a plot-based one, however. Do you think you would enjoy that?”

   Sam shrugs. “Jess recommended me that one too. I was thinking about getting that one, actually.”

   There’s something about the way he says the name Jess that makes Castiel want to ask, but he doesn’t. It’s not his place to do so. “Certainly try it. Personally, I think it is one of the most captivating books I have read. It is one of my favourites.”

   “Thanks,” Sam says. “Any more recent titles you recommend to go with it?”

   “I read _A Game Of Thrones_ after this one. I found it much lighter reading.”

   The boy raises his eyebrows. “You found _A Game Of Thrones_ light reading.”

   Castiel guesses that it is not, especially not for a fourteen-year-old. But he enjoyed it, because it was much more focused on creating a convincing world that still involved magic, and its politics, and was far less focused on one’s mental development and more on the politics of such a world. It’s not quite the same as his own world used to be, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

   “Anyway, I’ve read those already,” Sam says. “Sorry.”

   “That is nothing to apologize for, Sam. Did you like the series?”

   “I liked Martin’s world-building.” Sam leans against a bookshelf, looking pensive. “But I didn’t like the world itself at all. There’s an unreasonable amount of violence, don’t you think?”

   “I think an unreasonable amount of violence is part of any world.”

   Sam looks at him for a long time, and then finally smiles, although there is no humour in it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

   “Certainly not.”

   In the end, Sam leaves the library with _Jane Eyre,_ and the second and third books in the Gossip Girl series. He promises to bring the Vonnegut title with him next time too, but his brother doesn’t have much time to read, so it takes a little longer.

   Castiel tells him not to worry about it, and not to refrain from asking if he wants more recommendations, or if he just wants to talk about literature with someone. He likes to find there are still young people who enjoy literature as much as he does himself, and who appreciate it fully. Sam seems like a very intelligent boy.

   “What?” he asks his red-headed co-worker, Charlie Bradbury, who’s staring at him with raised eyebrows.

   “That might be the first time I see you voluntarily have an actual conversation with anyone,” she says. “Damn, Cas, it took weeks for you to even properly talk to me.”

   “That’s because you tried to talk to me about something called ralping—”

   “LARPing, Cas. I tried to talk to you about LARPing. I still can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.”

   “Whichever,” Castiel says. “Either way, I had no idea what you were talking about. It did not sound like something that would interest me very much.”

   “Which I remember you telling me in no uncertain terms.”

   He stares at here expressionlessly. He remembers that vividly as well. Cas has not been very open to new people for a long time, he will admit as much. It is tiring to him to make connections with people who he will have to leave within a few years anyway, only to have to start all over again. It isn’t fair, but he has given up on feeling sorry for himself.

   Charlie, however, did not appreciate having a co-worker that did not talk to her as much as she talked to him. She told him she could ‘sense that he liked her’, and tried to find ways to ‘cheer him up’, as though he is actually sad. (Or perhaps he is, but he simply does not like lingering on it too long.)

   He does not remember at which point he caved, but they ended up having a long conversation about literature (no surprises there), and Charlie has been doing her best to find common ground between them ever since. Castiel has never told her, but he appreciates the effort. It has been a long time since anyone put that in for him.

   “He seems like an intelligent kid,” Castiel says.

   “With an attractive brother,” she says, referring to the time she had seen Castiel’s gaze linger too long on the man she was quick to find out is called Dean Winchester. Because she has been desperate to get Castiel to go out more, and because he has refused to go on any of the dates she’s wanted to set up with women, she has now moved on to suggesting men. He hasn’t bothered correcting her.

   “Charlie,” he warns.

   “What? Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.”

   Castiel sighs. “Yes, but that is not what this is about.”

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

   He shoots her a look. She sighs. “Alright, I think you need to get out more. You happy now?”

   “No. I would appreciate it if you did not do that.”

   “I worry about you. Sue me.”

   “You don’t have to.”

   “You and I both know that it doesn’t work like that.”

   That, at least, is true, although Castiel doesn’t want her to worry for other reasons than him being ‘able to take care of himself’. If she doesn’t care, it won’t hurt as much when he leaves. Clean break. No contact at all.

   He’s tried, at the beginning, to keep in contact with people. At first, he didn’t have to at all, although he still preferred not to stay in one place too long. Even when people understood why he wasn’t ageing, they would get suspicious after a while. Why hasn’t he found his Soulmate yet? He must have done something terrible not to have found her after all this time.

   And that was when he wasn’t all _that_ old yet.

   But when the magic receded from the world, so did man’s knowledge of it. It is no longer just the case that Castiel doesn’t want to stay in one place, it’s that he can’t. People will start wondering why he keeps looking like he’s twenty for so long.

   Even the people that cared for him anyway he had to leave. He tried to keep in contact with them, until they eventually died, and that was almost worse because at least if he leaves on his own accord, he has control over the situation.

   “Dinner at my place tonight?”

   He should say no, but that would only make Charlie worry more. “Alright.”

   “Great,” Charlie says. “And Cas? Please shave. The hobo look doesn’t suit you.”

   He frowns and touches his cheek, which is indeed covered with hair. He hasn’t looked in the mirror for a while—he doesn’t need to. Aside from showering regularly and making sure he doesn’t smell, Castiel doesn’t do much for his outward appearance. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s shaved, or had to get a haircut.

   He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything.

* * *

 

   Much to Castiel's surprise, Sam Winchester keeps showing up to talk about books. Castiel isn’t quite sure _why_ he is surprised, because the kid seemed excited about the prospect of being able to talk about something he loves, but it still surprises him when people voluntarily choose to spend time with him after having tried to keep people away from him for so long.

   There seems to be something about this town.

   It gets to the point that Sam doesn’t just come over to bring back books and check out new ones, but actually brings his homework to sit at one of the tables in the middle of the library so that he can pick out necessary literature whenever he feels it’s needed. He seems too shy to ask for help until Charlie tells him happily that Castiel knows a lot about history, and if that is indeed a history essay Sam is working on, he shouldn’t be afraid to ask the male librarian “even if he does look like he’ll bite.”

   Castiel rolls his eyes from where he’s putting books back on their rightful shelves.

   It feels strange to be able to talk to the boy so easily, because he is seven years younger than Castiel’s not-ageing body. The thought crosses his mind once or twice that the boy might be his Soulmate, that in seven years Castiel will suddenly start getting older again, but he shrugs that off. It would not be the first time he thought such a thing—he vividly remembers Meg even though he would rather not—and it never ended up being true. It isn’t something he’d like to think about either way, because Sam is a minor and even if he were not, Castiel is fairly sure the boy has a crush the size of the sun on this ‘Jess’ girl, who is apparently in several of his classes.

   He doesn’t talk about the girl a lot, but sometimes he drops her name and his eyes will light up. It is very sweet, really.

   Between the lines, Castiel finds out a lot about Sam. He learns that his father is not around much, and that it falls on his brother to take care of the both of them. He learns that Dean Winchester works two low-paying jobs to keep their heads above the water, and that Sam likes to be in the library because even though it is a place known for its quiet, it’s not as quiet as the house he lives in.

   When Castiel asks, Sam mutters, “Because a house isn’t a home when there’s no one in it.”

   Castiel feels very bad for him. He is curious about this Dean now, too. He got a glimpse of him when checking out the books for him that started all this, but he doesn’t remember much. (Charlie describes him as a ‘green-eyed, freckled sex god’, but Castiel isn’t sure how much he believes her. Charlie is known to exaggerate sometimes.)

   “Anyway,” Sam says, looking guilty for throwing this all on the table, “Thanks. For putting up with me all the time.”

   “We aren’t ‘putting up’ with you,” Charlie says from behind the counter. “You’re a good kid, Sam. We actually kinda like you.”

   “Indeed,” Castiel agrees.

   “Yeah, well,” Sam says, flushing. “Thanks anyway.”

   “So how are things going with Jess?” Charlie unsubtly changes topic, effectively making Sam forget all about his homework.

* * *

 

   Sam is becoming a fixed figure in their library, and neither Castiel nor Charlie mind. There is plenty of space, and if it helps the kid concentrate, then that’s just a plus. It’s the only way they can help him, but it’s better than nothing.

   In the meantime, Castiel has other things to worry about as well. He now has to shave regularly, because he’ll end up with embarrassing facial hair that does not suit him at all otherwise. It’s his body showing him it’s changing, and he should be excited about it, but it just makes him nervous. Anna told him he’d know when he met his Soulmate, but he hasn’t felt any sparks the way she described it. Just the same old frustration.

   He hasn’t noticed any other changes yet, but they might be yet to come. He isn’t sure. He has no one left to ask about how any of this works. For all he knows, the magic has been slowly wearing off for years and he’s only noticing the practical implications of this now. There has to be an end to the wait at some point, right?

   He hopes so. It would be nice to be able to stay here, where he has Charlie, and Sam, and does not feel like he has to keep himself hidden even if it means it will be harder to leave in a few years. He’s been getting so, so tired, and it’s been getting increasingly difficult to ignore the exhaustion nestled in his very bones.

   Castiel has seen a lot. He has been to seven continents and seen a variety of cultures in the hope that perhaps intercontinental travel could make it possible for him to find a soulmate far away. He has seen all his loved ones live happy lives while he stayed behind. He has seen them all die, while humanity started searching for ways to live forever.

   Living forever isn’t worth a thing if you’re alone.

   “You coming, Cas?” Charlie asks. They’ve finished cleaning up for the day and she’s convinced him to get McDonalds and then go to a movie. He hasn’t been to a movie theatre in what might be decades. He has no idea what to expect.

   The McDonalds, at least, does not live up to his expectations. When he complains about the greasy food and the tasteless burger, Charlie just laughs in his face and tells him McDonalds isn’t known for its nutritional value, and hasn’t he ever been there before?

   (He has not. He has tended to avoid these kind of places on his own; he has enough money to buy himself nutritional food to make at home. Which, incidentally, is the place he’s spent most of the past decades by himself.)

   The movie is alright. It’s about some kind of superhero team and a strange man with a metal arm, and Charlie keeps bothering him about wanting a movie about a type of spider, which he doesn’t really understand. He does understand the emotions of seeing a long lost lover, even though he technically does not have any.

   It’s when they are driving back home in Castiel’s old car that it happens.

   “Oh, my God,” Charlie says.

“What’s wrong?”

   “Slow down,” she hisses. “Oh my god.”

   “ _What_?”

   “I think that’s him. That’s Sam’s brother.”

   She’s referring to an attractive young man in low-hung jeans and a black t-shirt, who’s leaning against a wall with his hips jutted forward in a very suggestive way. Castiel may be oblivious about a great many things, but he is not stupid. He’s aware of the implications.

   “Oh my god,” Charlie says for the third time. “Do you think Sam knows?”

   “If that is indeed Sam’s brother, then I assume he does not.”

   “We should stop and talk to him.”

   “Yes, that will go over very well,” Castiel says drily. “’Hello, Dean, we do not want to bother you, but we know your brother. Please get in the car and talk to us.’ I am sure that will not make him run away as fast as he can.”

   “You’re such an ass,” she tells him, even though her tone tells Castiel she knows he’s right.

   He is curious, though. It must not be an easy choice for anyone to decide to stand on a street corner at night hoping for a car to stop for them. It’s unsafe, and unhygienic, and overall just seems like a very bad and uncomfortable idea.

   He does this for Sam. There is no doubt about it.

   He’s still debating their best course of action when the man suddenly looks straight into their car with a coy look on his face that is clearly meant to get people to stop and pick him up. Charlie was right, the man is gorgeous even in the artificial light of a nearby street lamp.

   And then their eyes lock.

   Castiel pushes down on the gas harder than is probably good for his old car or their safety, but he can’t help it. He needs to get away from here, right now. Charlie yelps with the sudden speed that jolts them forward, but he barely notices her indignant questioning.

   Castiel truly is getting older. He has been since he saw an attractive stranger at the library on a very bad day.

   Because that was it.

   That was the feeling Anna and Balthazar told him about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a note/kudo and/or come find me on [Instagram](http://www.instagram.com/michelleisontour)!


	3. III: The Middle, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support/kudos/comments! :) Went on a long walk last weekend and pretty much wrote an extra chapter in my head (and then on my laptop). I think being outside without cell reception is good for me. I should go on a hiking holiday sometime.
> 
> In all seriousness - man, I never realised how much I missed writing until now.

* * *

 

 

   That ugly old continental pulls up right in front of him again. The driver must have ditched his girl, because he’s alone this time. Dean would find it disgusting if it wasn’t this type of people who bring in their rent.

   He’s pretty sure it’s the unpleasant guy he saw in the library a while ago when he got those books for Sam, the grumpy one who refused to do so much as look at Dean while his co-worker handled all the interactive tasks. He’s never actually been back; he hasn’t had the time, and it’s not like he felt very welcome there even if he had liked libraries to begin with, so he made Sam bring back the books and that was it. He’s never seen the guy since, but he’d recognize him anywhere. He may have been a dick, but he’s an attractive one.

   Dean saunters to the car as nonchalantly as he can muster, leaning forward to tap the window. The guy rolls it down awkwardly.

   “You looking for somethin’ tonight?”

   Forget awkward—the guy looks _terrified._ Jesus Christ, what’s he doing here? Aside from the fact that he’s much too young and attractive to pick up a hooker like Dean, he’s got to either—well, _actually_ pick up a hooker like Dean, or get the hell outta here before he scares off potential clients.

   Dean hopes for the first. He hasn’t seen Alastair for a while, and he’d like to keep it that way.

   “’Cause I gotta tell you, I hope you are,” Dean continues when the guy doesn’t say anything, letting his eyes roam his body behind the steering wheel.

   “Um,” the guy says.

   Dean raises an eyebrow, and he can feel it looks more annoyed than seductive, but he _really_ doesn’t have time for this. It’s not like clients are lining up to meet him tonight, and he kinda needs new shoes. Badly. It’s not that he can’t afford them—it’s that he can’t afford both the shoes and the bills, and it’s cold as fuck outside and he doesn’t feel like going without a working heater.

   “Right, well, if you’re not here to get me to ride you like a cowboy rides a horse, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t park right in front of me. I’m not here freezing my butt off for fun.”

   “No, I—please, get in.”

   “Whoa, not so fast, pal. You actually want me to ride you, or you just wanna fuck me? Or you just after a quick blow job?” He hopes not; even though he’s not exactly feeling like getting fucked, it does bring in better money, and he can just go home after this one. At least the guy is attractive, goddamn.

   Attractive or not, he does look somewhat taken aback by Dean’s abrasiveness. Well, if he wanted to be subtle about it, he shoulda picked someone else. Most guys who do this are cheating dickbags anyway, Dean’s not going to ease them into it.

   “If you wanna get a motel, that’s fine, but it’s on you. Condoms aren’t negotiable.”

   “That will not be a problem,” the guy says quietly, taking out a wad of cash that Dean’s pretty sure he didn’t get from his job as a librarian. “Will this be sufficient?”

   Dean stares at it. “I don’t do permanent markings or any kind of creepy kinks.”

   “Nor do I.” He looks like he’s serious about it, but that doesn’t say much. Dean reminds himself there’s a knife in his boot and he’s used it before; he can use it again.

   “Alright.” Dean pulls open the passenger side door and gets in. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

 

   The weird-ass guy ends up driving them to an actual hotel.

   Granted, it’s not a five-star establishment, but it’s still classier than what Dean’s used to (which isn’t hard considering they’re usually pay-per-hour greasy as fuck motels).   Dean has to bite his cheek to refrain from asking why the guy is spending so much money on him.

   Asking may sound like he’s being ungrateful, though, and that’s the last thing he wants.

   The room is basic, but it’s got a king-size bed and it’s clean, and that’s more than Dean could hope for. Rich guys can get classier hookers than him, so he tends to end up with the absolute worst—the ones that can barely pay him what he asks, let alone afford a room. Any room. More than a few times Dean’s ended up on his back in the back seat of a too small car with his legs still outside, or bent over a hood.

   He turns to look at the dark-haired man sitting on the edge of the bed, inching closer. “So you never told me what it is you want,” he says, trying to make his voice husky and attractive. “That mean you want it all?” He sinks down till he’s kneeling in front of the man, slowly, smirking at him. “I can make that happen.”

   “I…” the man stutters.

   Dean puts a hand on his knee. “Hey, it’s cool, you don’t have to be nervous. What do I call you?”

   “My name is Castiel.”

   Dean’s used to being given fake names—hell, it’s not like he uses his real name, either—but this one’s so obviously fake that he can’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at it. “Castiel, huh? My name’s Michael.”

 _Castiel_ squints at him like he knows that’s not true, but he doesn’t say anything, so maybe Dean’s just being paranoid. He can’t afford anyone knowing who he is, because he can’t afford Sam knowing what he does.

   And he needs the damn money. He can do this.

   Castiel looks like he’s about to say something, but Dean moves his hands up to the man’s thighs, rubbing them through his jeans before cupping the man’s crotch with his right hand, and that shuts him up.

   Dean smirks up at him. “That’s right.” He doesn’t like it when clients talk. Not like anything good usually comes out of their mouth.

   “Michael,” Castiel says quietly, as if he read Dean’s thoughts and needs to prove him wrong. “I did not bring you here for this. I am sorry.”

   Seriously? What does that even mean? Skip the foreplay? A quickie? He’s paying Dean big money, so Dean intends to make it good. Client’s the boss, though. “Alright. You wanna tell me what to do? What’s the orders, sir?”

   Even that does not get a rise—heh—out of the man, and Dean’s starting to get nervous. Either this guy’s got some really weird kinks, or something else is going on, and he’d rather find out neither.

   “I want to help you.”

   Dean gets up, eyebrow raised. “Seriously? Of course you’re one of those. You look much to decent for this.” He laughs bitterly. “I don’t need your pity. So, either you fuck _me,_ right here, right now; or you _fuck off_. Choice is yours.” He tries to put on his best smirk. “I know what I’d pick if I were you.”

   Fuck, he hates himself.

   “I do not feel the sexual urges you imply I have.”

   “Then don’t waste someone’s time who earns his money satisfying those,” Dean snaps. “Hell, man, what is wrong with you?”

   He’s nearly out the door when he hears his name, softly, like the man isn’t sure if he wants him to hear. Not Michael; _his_ name. “ _Dean._ ”

   He fucking runs.

* * *

 

   Dean doesn’t go back to that particular street corner for a while, even if that’s where his regulars know to find him. He doesn’t want to risk running into _Castiel_ again. The guy must have known who he was because of Sam, who goes to the library regularly these days. Fuck, what if he tells Sam? What if Sam already knows? Dean doesn’t think he can handle that humiliation. He’s got to be an example for Sam; he can’t be his big protective brother _and_ a hooker.

   He takes on new clients, disgusting old men who say demeaning things that Dean takes and repeats back sometimes without really hearing them. He’s on autopilot, and it’s a good thing his clients only care about a hole to fuck because even if they notice, they don’t say anything and they don’t try to pay him any less.

   Sam finally tells him he’s starting to look sick and to _please take a day off, Dean, I’m getting worried about you._ He thinks he shouldn’t, but he also gladly holds on to the excuse and stays home from both the bar and the streets for three days, which he then realizes only makes him hate himself more.

   In the end, he meets Castiel again not on the street, but at the bar.

   “Are you _following_ me?”

   “I was not aware you worked here,” the man says with a frown.

   “Yeah right—”

   “You want me to take this table?” Jo asks sweetly. Dean doesn’t think she’s noticed how tense he is; she’s smiling sweetly at the table’s occupants in the way that she does whenever she thinks when someone’s cute. It doesn’t seem to matter to her that they might be together. She doesn’t even seem to have a preference between the guy or the redhead with him.

   Though knowing Jo, it’s equally likely she’s just doing it for the tips.

   “Yeah—yeah, that’s fine.”

   He’s not hiding. He’s just… letting Jo flirt with the redhead, if he’s hearing correctly—he’s resolutely not looking at the table, but it sounds alright. Maybe not the guy’s girlfriend after all, then, unless he’s into threesomes on top of having a hero complex.

   He suddenly regrets having given Jo his table. What if the guy lets something slip and Jo finds out? What if he uses her to get to Dean after all? He’s paranoid and he knows it, but he can’t take any chances. That’s just how his life works; how it’s always worked. Look after Sammy. Trust no one.

   The girl, he learns from Jo, is called Charlie, and she’s _Totally Interested_ (in Jo, that is). He’d think it’s cute if Charlie wasn’t friends with the guy who is apparently _actually_ called Castiel, but there’s nothing he can think to say that won’t give him away to some extent.

   “What about the guy, Dean? He seems like your type.”

   “He— _what_?”

   “Oh, come on. What, you didn’t think I knew you’re bisexual? Or were you just not aware that you’re totally obvious in sneaking glances at him?”

   “I’m not—”

   “Whatever, Dean,” Jo says. “I don’t know why I try with you.”

   “Shut up.”

   He stares while Jo brings their burgers to the table, though, because she’s right. This Cas guy totally would be his type, had it not been for—whatever. But Jo doesn’t know about that.

   “Please do the next check on their table,” Jo says when she gets back. “I have something to discuss with mom.”

   She doesn’t. She just likes to interfere with Dean’s non-existent love life.

   “Is everything alright?” Dean grudgingly goes to ask after a while anyway. “Anything else to drink?”

   “Dean,” the man says quietly, putting his burger down. “I apologise. I would like to talk to you as…”

   “Normal people,” Charlie chirps in.

   “Yes,” Castiel agrees. “I am aware I should not have…” He shakes his head. “I am sorry.”

   Dean isn’t sure why the guy is so intriguing. He should tell him it’s fine, but that he doesn’t feel the need to talk or meet up or anything like it. And yet there’s something that makes Dean _want_ to.

   He’s not in love with the guy. He barely knows him, and what he does know hasn’t been too positive so far. “Yeah. Okay.”

   Castiel looks as surprised as Dean feels.

* * *

 

   They meet in a different bar, where Dean doesn’t know anyone. He told Sam he was going to the bar, but not that he was meeting someone, so the kid probably expects him not to get back during the night. That is what he thinks Dean does regularly, anyway, and Dean’s fine keeping up that illusion.

   They don’t talk about what happened between them. Castiel mentions Sam every now and then, but only in passing, and only because the library seems to be the guy’s whole life. “Charlie is trying to get me to be a little spontaneous,” he admits. “I have not been doing well.”

   “I think you’re doing just fine right now, Cas,” Dean tells him, tipping his beer in Cas’s direction.

   It’s all going fine until Cas asks, “Why do you do… what you do?”

   Dean snorts. “What do you think? It brings in money, man. Someone’s gotta pay the rent.”

   “Surely you can find other jobs.”

   “Yeah, well, none of them pay this well.”

   “Alright.”

   “Alright? That’s it?”

   “You were right to be angry with me,” Cas says. “I will not try to undermine your decision, even though I do not understand it. I would like to start over, if you will.”

   “I think we’re already doing that.” Dean looks down at the table and finally adds, “Thanks.”

   It’s not that he wants to do it. He’d rather have a respectable job, like anyone would. He knows he’s putting his life on the line every time he gets into some stranger's car, and how counter-productive it truly is in trying to keep Sam safe. The kid is too young to earn his own money and by this point Dean doesn’t even know whether their Dad is even still alive—he guesses he must be, since no one’s been knocking on their door yet, but they haven’t seen him in forever.

   And if someone does come knocking at their door, Dean knows he needs a decent job in order to keep custody of Sam. But who’s gonna hire him when all he’s got is some experience as a barista and a goddamn GED that Sam forced him to get?

   “Why do you?” he finally asks. “Do what you do.”

   “Be a librarian?” Cas smiles. “I know it does not seem… a dream job, to most people. But I enjoy it. I appreciate that one person can live many lives through books, each more exciting than the last. I appreciate that the people who visit the library want to open their minds to move into these new worlds. I can be helpful to them.”

   “And?”

   “And?” Cas repeats.

   “You weren’t finished with that list you were summing up there,” Dean says, waving a cold fry in the other man’s direction.

   “I like books,” says Cas. “They can conjure up many emotions.”

   “So can life.”

   Dean likes books. His lack of any degree might suggest otherwise to some people, but he does enjoy reading every now and then—Vonnegut, Stephen King, even those depressingly murderous Game of Thrones books that everyone keeps going on about. That doesn’t mean he prefers them over doing things.

   “So it can,” Cas acknowledges.

   It’s not a convincing answer, but Dean gets a feeling he better not get into it any further. Not at this point in their only just restarted friendship.

* * *

 

   Despite telling himself, after first meeting Cas, that he’d smash the man’s face in should he ever see him again, Dean actually enjoys spending time with him. He’s never met anyone better suited for a job as a librarian—and no one worse than the girl, Charlie—and yet Cas is not as boring as Dean always thought librarians sounded.

   Maybe it’s the mystery around him. The fact that Cas seems way older than he looks, like he’s already seen everything life has to offer and has tired of it; or that he’s a librarian but doesn’t seem shy of money (even if Dean’s pride won’t let the other man pay for him). He wonders if Cas’s parents are rich assholes and Cas got to take a random degree without worrying about job opportunities after, while traveling around the world just to say he’d done it. That doesn’t seem like Cas, but then, Dean likes to think _he_ doesn’t seem like someone who lets himself get fucked for money.

   They don’t talk about it. Neither about Cas’s bank account nor about what Dean does. It’s still a nice change not having to make up excuses for everything, though, or not having to think twice about everything he says.

   Charlie knows, too. She was the one who first saw him, Cas said. Dean doesn’t know how to feel about that, but she seems nice enough, and she didn’t pay him and tell him she knew who he was, so that ought to be a plus. If Cas is his best friend, Charlie is a close second. If only because the only other people Dean sees regularly are Sam and Jo, and Jo is more like an annoying sister.

   They’re also both very happy he’s “finally making friends,” because they’re both assholes.


	4. VI: The Middle, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this fic, I had this idea that there would be three middle parts, and a beginning and end. The Middle would go out with a bang, and then I'd wrap it up with a happy ending.
> 
> My characters decided differently, so this turned more character study, less plot-crazy epic. But I think it works a lot better.

_What if I told you, you could stop?_

   Castiel is, perhaps not loaded, but well off. He has been alive for a long time and after the novelty of travel wore off, he has not spent money on a great many things. His apartment would not be lived in by a rich businessman, but it is clean and decent and big enough for two people to live in comfortably. He hasn’t put much stock in big meals since he stopped allowing himself to have friends to share them with. He has done very little but sleep and work for years.

   It has been a bit of a challenge keeping his savings without it being suspicious, but he has managed this far.

_What if—?_

   But Dean’s pride won’t allow it, and Castiel can hardly blame him. Being dependent on his father did not get him anywhere; being dependent on someone who was a stranger mere weeks ago? It would be impossible.

   And thus life goes on. Sam visits the library several times a week. Sometimes, Dean comes to pick him up and stays for a chat with Castiel and Charlie. Sometimes, Dean and Castiel go for a coffee during Castiel’s lunch break. Sometimes Castiel visits The Roadhouse, most often with Charlie, who is still fawning over the blonde girl who works there with Dean.

   It is less of a drag than it used to be, but life goes on.

   “You like him.”

   “Yes.”

   “No, I mean, _like_ like him.”

   “I am aware of your meaning, Charlie, I am not a child.”

   “I was just making sure. Why don’t you tell him?”

   “You know his situation, Charlie.” Castiel frowns. “Besides, we have only known each other for a few weeks.”

   “So?”

   “You know how we… started.”

   She snorts at that. “Yeah, that wasn’t your best call, I could’ve told you that. But he’s forgiven you, so whatever.”

   “He is also a man.”

   It’s shocking how fast her tone can go from joking to pure ice. “I didn’t think you had a problem with that.”

   “But he might.”

   Her face softens. “Cas… Have you ever been with a guy before?” He doesn’t have to answer for her to know. “You’re just scared. He hangs out with Jo, too, doesn’t he?”

   “That could be because she won’t fall in love with _him_.”

   That makes Charlie laugh. “Oh, she used to be. She had a total crush on him when she was younger and he was this older, badass, hot guy. He had to turn her down gently. Don’t tell her I told you that.” Charlie could tell Jo was into her right away, and she doesn’t take as long figuring out what she wants as Castiel does. “Anyway, I don’t want to force you into anything. I’m just saying, I think you have a chance. Don’t make choices you might regret.”

   How could he regret being friends with Dean, though? If he doesn’t say anything, at least he’ll have that. Besides, it’s too soon. Charlie and Jo met like normal people. And whether they believe they are soulmates or not, Castiel can’t say, but even if they do, it isn’t the same as it is for him.

   So life goes on.

   That’s when the call comes.

   “Dean?”

   “Cas.”

   It’s a sob more than a word—a dry one, one that is born out of sheer panic. “Dean?” Cas repeats.

   “Yeah.” He sounds like he’s trying to regain his composure. “I know you’re at work right now, but d’ya think you can come over for a while? Get Charlie to cover for you?”

   “I—yes, of course.”

   Charlie’s already looking at him worriedly. He’s confident she’ll make up an excuse for his absence.

*

   John Winchester is dead. He was in a car accident with a truck the previous night and died on the spot.

   Dean appears to be in a state of shock. He’s clearly trying to act calm and normal, despite that in the context of the situation, those two do not go well together. Still, he’s pacing the same stretch of room so intensely Castiel things he might ruin the floor, and his eyes look frantic— understandably so.

   “It was going too well,” he mutters for the umpteenth time. Sam just shoots him a look like he’s about to hurl his glass of water at his brother if he says those words another time. The boy doesn’t have a bad temper, so that’s probably saying something. “Don’t be stupid, Dean.”

   “ _You’re_ stupid,” Dean says flatly. His eyes are red, but he hasn’t let a single tear since Castiel arrived at their house. Either he’s already let them all out, or he’s trying his hardest to keep them in—or both, which is rather likely.

   Dean is legally an adult; he’s allowed to take care of Sam—provided he has a proper job and income.

   Which means Sam, too, must have found out that Dean, in fact, doesn’t work at a legal job as much as he claims. Or he will soon, if hey aren’t careful.

   The Roadhouse doesn’t make enough profit to be able to let Dean make more hours than he already does, Cas knows. He has few official qualifications. If he’s gonna find a decent second job, he’s going to need help.

   Castiel has money. He isn’t _rich_ , by any means—he has had to pay rent all these years too, after all—but he has had plenty of different jobs that have allowed him to save up, and he rarely spends money other than the necessities. But he also knows by now that money doesn’t necessarily solve everything.

   Besides Dean would never take it—he’s too proud, and worst case scenario, he might start to wonder how Cas has come to be so loaded, and then what will Castiel tell him? _I come from a time when magic still existed, and I am only still alive because I have never met my soulmate, but I think it might be you._

   No, offering money is not an option. But he could offer other things.

   “I could take in Sam for a while,” he says carefully. Then, to Sam, “If you would like that, of course.”

   “No.”

   “Dean—” Sam starts.

   “You’re my brother.”

   “I would not take your family away from you.”

   Dean looks like he’s about to snap something, but then regains control of his mouth and just turns away.

   “I’m sorry,” Cas says.

   “No,” Dean says. “No, you’re right. There’s… a lot to arrange… and...” He looks a bit lost, even without being able to see his face. His shoulders have sagged, and his stance is far from the easy and confident way he normally holds himself.

   “Dean, it’s fine,” Sam says quietly. “I get it. You aren’t abandoning me.” He worries his lip, and there’s a tense stretch of silence before he adds, “I can help you arrange things. Or—I dunno—” He hesitates, not at all looking sure of what he’s about to say. “Should I get emancipated?”

   “No!” Dean interrupts, turning back to them.

   Sam stares.

   Dean takes a deep breath and says, a little calmer, “I don’t want you to bother with that. I don’t want you to have to bother with any of this. I want you to stay focused on school.”

   “I’m doing fine, Dean. And I don’t want _you_ to do this all by yourself, either.”

   “Yeah, and I’d like to keep it that way.” His eye flick towards Cas, almost pleading. _Sam can’t find out._

   “Sam,” Cas says. “Your brother is right. You aren’t financially self-sufficient, and your chances will be better if you stay in school and keep doing well. And Dean does not have to do this all by himself. If he will let me… I can help him.”

   “Alright.” Sam looks a tad relieved, and Castiel doesn’t blame him. He knows from the boy’s stories that he never got along with his father very well whenever the man was home, which he often was not. It’s probably all he needed to hear that Dean doesn’t have to handle it all by himself. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

* * *

  

   It isn’t, of course, the funeral and all the surrounding arrangements that are the biggest issue, as Sam believes they are. There isn’t money for anything big, and Castiel doesn’t offer any because he knows Dean can’t be bothered. “It’s not like Dad had any friends that would want to attend,” he admits the one time Castiel attempts to make him talk about it. “It’s just us, and fuck knows Sam didn’t even like Dad, either.”

   Frankly, Castiel isn’t quite sure if Dean is bitter about Sam not liking their father, or about things their father himself has and hasn’t done for them in their lives. He doesn’t ask. Dean isn’t the type of person who’ll talk if you ask.

   What is a more pressing issue is the matter of Sam’s custody. More specifically: Of Dean needing a respectable job, as he puts it, ‘ASAP’.

   Castiel has applied for what are likely hundreds of jobs in his lifetime, so he tries to help Dean with it, but it’s hard. Thankfully, the other guy has had his job at the Roadhouse for a long time, so they can work with that. Unfortunately, that isn’t the type of experience most applications are asking for, and without any diplomas of higher education, it appears it is impossible to find a job.

   “Obviously,” Dean says sardonically, “or I would’ve had one already.”

   It’s not entirely news to Castiel that this is how the world works, but it does make him remember different times, when he could just walk in and show his skill and that would be more important than a piece of paper. He wishes it would still be like that. Dean has a variety of skills borne of both necessity while growing up without their parents around, and a genuine enjoyment for certain things (or, when it comes to cooking or fixing appliances, a combination of both).

   “What if I can’t find anything?” Dean asks after what feels like years of applications. “I mean, I’m used to it—to things not going as I’d like them, I mean—but...”

   “But it’s not just about you?” Cas guesses.

   “I can’t lose Sam.”

   Dean very rarely allows himself to be seen in a vulnerable light, and there is something humbling about him doing it in front of Castiel. He’s looking at the floor, his jaw set and the wheels in his head clearly turning faster than imaginable. “We’ve always done fine on our own,” he says, with less conviction than Castiel imagines he was going for.

   “I know. Though you should also be happy to find a good job that you enjoy for _yourself_. Don’t look at me like that, you do deserve it. You do deserve more than to sell yourself for money, Dean.”

   “Shut up.”

   “You’re worth a lot more than any money could ever buy.”

   “Yeah, well, it’s only money that can buy us food and pay the rent, so that’s nice and all, but—”

   “I’ll talk to Charlie. She knows a lot of people. Surely she has some ideas who we can turn to.”

   Dean gives him a long look, but doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

 

   Charlie, who knows just about everyone in this town by this point, has a few suggestions. None of her suggestions are currently looking for a new employee, but, as she points out, it’s worth a try, because at least these are people who she knows and who might be persuaded more by _showing_ skill than by hearing about it from a piece of paper.

   Dean seems embarrassed talking about this among the three of them, even though Charlie doesn’t give any indication that he should be. Charlie’s the least judgemental person Castiel has ever met—it’s why it was impossible for him not to become friends with her. But Dean is Dean, meaning he’ll always feel like he needs to keep up appearances. None of them remarks upon it.

   They narrow it down to two options to start with—or at least, to the two that they agree sound most promising. The first is called Robert Singer—a guy who owns a garage and a scrapyard just outside of town. Charlie tells them one time her car broke down not too far near it and “that dick Dick Roman” from the modern garage in town refused to tow it for her, likely because it would cost him more money to tow and fix the old thing than it would earn him. She almost had a fit of panic before Bobby passed by, saw she was in trouble, and helped her out even though he did tell her it might be time to get a better car.

   “I didn’t,” she says, shrugging. “It’s been working splendidly since he fixed it, though.” 

   Dean likes cars. He likes fixing cars. He isn’t sure if he’d want to do it for the rest of his life, but at least he’s got his father’s Chevy Impala to show off to Bobby Singer—well, if he manages to finish it quickly, considering the dent the truck put in it.

   That’s not something he can wait for, though. That goddamn custody clock is ticking.

   “Boy,” Robert Singer says when Dean tries to explain his situation without fully explaining his situation. He uses such a tone that Dean knows that it’s not gonna be what he wants to hear.

   “It’s fine, Mr Singer,” he says. “I understand.”

   Mr Singer looks sad, though. “Do you, now? I wish I could help you out. I do. But this garage isn’t doing as well as I’d want it to. I can’t offer you a full-time job on a decent salary.” He sighs. “I know it’s not what you want to hear. But people these days go to well-known chains rather than independent businesses.”

   “They shouldn’t,” Dean says.

   “Well, they do.” Bobby shrugs. “Listen. You try finding something else that is able to offer you more certainty, alright? But if you can’t, you come back, and we’ll figure something out.”

   “You barely know me.”

   “I got nothing to lose.” The man shrugs.

   “Neither do I.”

   “Boy,” he says again, “you ain’t seen nothing of life.”

   “I’ve seen plenty,” mutters Dean.

   He goes by the liquor store on his way home that day, even though he knows to be careful with money and despite how much he hated it when John would do the very same thing years ago. Apples and trees, and all that. He’s suddenly painfully glad Sam is staying at Cas’s place. The kid deserves better than this.

   The whiskey burns his throat even before he makes it to his Dad’s old chair. He’s never really made use of it before—it was _Dad’s—_ but it seems fitting to start now, whiskey and all.

   “Fuck this,” he says out loud to no one in particular. Then, more emphatically, “ _Fuck_ this.”

   Of course he shouldn’t have assumed this Bobby guy would be his saving grace. Dean wouldn’t want to hire himself either. He’s got nothing—no diplomas, no proof of any real skill (should’ve finished that goddamn Impala first), no work experience that he can realistically put on a resume. Nothing to show for what he’s done with his life so far except a kid brother that’s doing pretty well but who might still be taken away from him. “ _FUCK this.”_

   The whiskey is nice. He doesn’t drink much, always wanted to be entirely sober and have all his reflexes in case he’d need them, but despite the unpleasant way it goes down he’s stupidly thankful for how lightheaded it makes him. He’s never really been drunk before.

   (Liar.)

   (But not like this—never like this. Never to mindlessly drink away his sorrows, all by himself on John’s shitty old chair. He’d promised himself. Add that to the list of things he’s failed at.)

   Halfway down the bottle, he considers calling Cas. Because Cas has never outwardly judged him. Maybe he won’t tonight, either.

   But he might. He might realise the hopeless state Dean’s in, finally realise that that’s pretty much the status quo, and walk away. _Been nice meeting you, but I gotta go now. Family emergency somewhere in Illinois._

_Illinois._

   Dean lets out a snort that’s not quite a laugh and that even in this state he’s glad no one else hears. He’s got to slow down a little. He only got one bottle, and the guy at the store he went to might be a bit too lenient with the age limit, he might get difficult if Dean has to go back for more.

   He finishes it in what feels like ten minutes but might be longer, and falls asleep right on that smelly old chair.

*

   He wakes up the next morning still on that smelly old chair, even smellier now with the whiskey and Dean’s alcohol-infused sweat. His face is pressed against the armrest when he regains consciousness, and it takes all his might not to puke all over it.

   He’s a fucking idiot. One with a bursting head and an upset stomach and a kid brother who relies on this utter wreck to pull it together and make sure they can keep going almost as they were. A kid brother who’s likely researching the hell out of their situation to find any rule and loophole they can use to their advantage.

   Meanwhile, Dean’s damn lucky he reaches the toilet bowl on time.

* * *

 

   He’s sufficiently ashamed of himself not to show his face to anyone that day. He lies in bed and tries to focus on the throbbing in his head just so he _won’t_ focus on every other shitty thing going around in there, and he does his best to sleep it off but it’s surprisingly hard when your body feels this heavy.

   He’s a fucking idiot, and from tomorrow, he’s going to concentrate on the second option Charlie came up with that seemed promising even if he’s just going to get shot down again. Dean Winchester isn’t a damn quitter.

 

   The second option in question is a guy called Benny Lafitte, who owns a popular restaurant. Charlie argued that since Dean has worked at the Roadhouse for a while now, they can make that sound like he’s got exactly the right type of experience without really lying, and besides, Dean isn’t a bad cook, right?

   He’s not. But he’s not a bad mechanic either, and he doesn’t _want_ to admit that he’d gotten his hopes up when Charlie told him about Bobby Singer, but dammit, he had.

   If it hadn’t been for Sam, he would’ve just gone on the way he has for years now. At least that’s something he can do—this whole venture into job hunting makes it clear that that’s about all there is to him, doesn’t it?

   “Dean,” Cas says quietly.

   “Shut up, Cas.” He doesn’t know what he says it for. This guy, though… Ever since the beginning, it’s like this guy really looks at Dean, and really _sees_ him. He’s known that ever since Cas dropped Dean’s real name that day at the hotel, when Dean had told himself that the guy was just a creepy stalker. Shit, he still kinda thinks that, which is a terrible thing to think of someone who’s helped him as much as Cas has.

   There’s something about Cas’s eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at Dean, like all the answers are right there even though Dean’s pretty sure he’s got no answers to anything and just brings a fuckload of trouble to the guy’s life.

   “Why, Cas?” he finally whispers.

   “Why?”

   “Why’d you decide to be my designated saviour, huh?” Dean shakes his head. “From that first time, man, goddamn. It’s like you saw me and decided, ‘this poor kid, I gotta be his knight in shining armour’ or something, and look where that’s got you.”

   Cas just frowns. “Dean—”

   “I just don’t _get_ it. You do know your life would be a whole lot easier without your angel complex, right? Are you just after that? Is it some kind of masochist thing?”

   “Dean, please.” The guy looks pained, now. “You would not understand.”

   “No,” says Dean, “I clearly don’t.”

   Castiel looks like he’s contemplating something, and Dean studies his face in the silence. The guy doesn’t look like he can be much older than Dean himself, but there’s lines in his face that seem at odds with the knowledge that he’s looking at someone of about twenty years old. The guy looks tired, and for the first time Dean wonders if it’s more than a lack of sleep—or even more than dealing with Dean’s bullshit (which, frankly, he could stop doing at any point without Dean blaming him for it).

   (Though it would hurt.)

   (Which is stupid, because they haven’t even known each other that long.)

   There’s stubble on his cheeks, too, that Dean doesn’t remember from the first time he met him. It doesn’t look bad, necessarily—it makes him look older, but in an attractive way—but it doesn’t help convince Dean the guy is totally fine, either; if only because it seems not to be the default for him.

   His eyes are blue and his lips are chapped and his hair is sticking up every which way and Dean realises not that the guy is attractive (he noticed that the first time they met, how could he not have?) but that Dean’s actually _attracted_ to him. As in, more than objectively.

   “Go home,” Dean tells him quietly.

   “I—I don’t understand.”

   “C’mon, man, you’re exhausted. Go home. Take a nap. Order some pizza. Or something healthier, probably. I’ll figure this out.”

   “You don’t have to.”

   Dean snorts. “Maybe not. But you really have to take a break. I’ll let you know how it goes with this Benny guy, alright?”

   It turns out Benny is a pretty handsome guy with a no-nonsense approach to things, but more importantly: He’s willing to take Dean on on a trial basis. “I ain’t making no promises,” he drawls, “and you might wanna keep that Roadhouse gig part-time anyway, if you gotta care for a kid.” But he looks apologetic as he says it, and Dean really doesn’t give a crap about spending almost all his time working if it means he gets to keep Sam.

   “I’m taking a risk here, kid,” Benny says. “But I get where you stand, so I’ll give you a chance.”

   “I won’t screw it up,” Dean says, and he means it.

   “You better not,” says the restaurant owner, “or I got a redhead to talk to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided not to go into the details of the whole custody thing too much, because once I do I'd take it too far and make too much of the fic revolve around that. I hope y'all can forgive me for that (:


	5. V: The Middle, Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer than planned because I went to Berlin for a few days and had to go straight back to work the day after--which was a bit rough, but totally worth it. I do apologise if I've missed any mistakes in this chapter, though.

   They’ve been doing well, the group of them—Dean’s enjoying working for Benny, and Benny seems happy with Dean as well. If this works out, and Dean keeps working for Ellen Harvelle regularly on top of it, he can make it work  financially . It’s a horrible schedule time-wise, but Dean seems happy enough. He doesn’t outright talk about what he did before, but it must be less stressful working constantly than it is worrying about his health and safety when he does.

   Sam’s still doing well in school, which helps. He’s always been smart, but Castiel realises that there was still a kind of worry amongst all of them that the stress of losing his father and potentially his brother would impact him greatly. Instead, Sam seems to have increased his focus, perhaps to make sure that no one can start asking questions about his home situation.

   Charlie and Jo are dating now. Ellen doesn’t seem particularly happy about it, but according to Jo, Ellen is never going to be happy about her daughter dating anyone. Ellen doesn’t say it, but it appears Jo is right and her mother just has a hard time letting her little girl go.

   But that’s all on the surface. 

   Sam doesn’t talk about the girl in his class anymore, not even  in passing . He’s so focused on not letting his situation impact his grades in any way that Castiel worries about his grades impacting everything else in his life. Dean doesn’t realise it—he’s working most of his time, and no one can blame him for that—but Charlie does.

   “Hey, Sam,” she says as she takes the seat next to him in the library. “How’s life?”

   “You know,” Sam says. “Lots of homework.”

   “Yeah, I never liked school much,” she replies, pulling a face. “I’ll go to MIT someday, though.”

   Sam looks up at that. “You want to go to MIT?”

   “I wasn’t planning on becoming one of those stuffy old librarians, no. I’m saving up some money first, though. Doing some tech jobs on the side.” She shrugs. “I’ll get there someday.”

   “I’m sure,” Sam says. It sounds like he means it.

   “And so will you,” she goes on. “Sooner than I will, with a full ride, no doubt. So how’s _real life_ going?”

   “Charlie—”

   “No, seriously. How’s that girl you’re into? Jess, was it?”

   “Charlie, I really do have homework to get to.”

   “Sam,” she says, copying Sam’s tired and slightly indignant tone, “you really do have a social life to get back to.”

   “I can’t let my grades suffer. It’s the least I can do when Dean’s…” He trails of, looking into the distance. “Dean’s doing everything he can to keep me. I gotta do what I can.”

   “You are,” Charlie says. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to think about other things sometimes. Dean, too. Don’t you dare lose sight of that.”

   “I don’t know how,” Sam admits. 

   “Talk to Jess,” Charlie says before getting up and walking back to the counter where Cas is watching them. He’s not doing so well, either. Charlie wonders sometimes if he ever has. He was so quiet when he just came here, like he didn’t want anyone to notice him. She did her best to draw him out, and she thinks she did an alright job, but he didn’t really come out of his shell until he met…

   She’d say Sam, but that’s not entirely true. He talked to the kid a lot, but only about books or schoolwork. He’s only turned into a regular, social person since he met Dean Winchester.

   She’s about ninety-nine percent sure Cas is totally in love with Dean. And about a hundred percent sure they’re never going to properly act on it. Not after the disastrous way they met.

   Which means they need a push. Nothing big—not with things being the way they are. She’s not an idiot. But they deserve a break, the same way Sam deserves a break.

   But she’s been trying to figure out Castiel Novak for what feels like forever, and as good as she usually is at reading people like a book… Cas isn’t like that. Charlie doesn’t tend to tell people this—they’ll just write her off as an even weirder nerd than they already do, and maybe they wouldn’t be entirely wrong—but she really wants to believe there is  _more_ to the world than people know. Otherwise, where does the inspiration for all these stories come from?

   There’s something about her co-worker that makes him look old. No, not old— _ancient,_ and she doesn’t mean that in mean way. Sure, maybe she’s being stupid; she imagines a lot of people would call her just that, and she’s not entirely sure they’re wrong. But there’s a possibility that Castiel Novak is not… of this world. And she plans on finding out.

   She just needs to come up with a plan as to how.

   She can see him move from the corner of her eye, the fluid, practised movements of someone who is entirely sure of what his place is in the space he occupies—physically, anyway. She doesn’t think Cas has been very sure about his emotional place in the world since before she met him.

   “How’s Dean?” she mutters when he comes back from putting the latest returned books back in their rightful places.

   “Busy,” says Cas. “He works a lot.”

   He’s always worked a lot, but at least he’s safe in Benny’s hands now.

   “Have you two been hanging out?”

   “He’s busy,” Cas says again.

   “So go visit him at the Roadhouse. Not like you’ve never done that before.” She’s right and she knows it—she’s had to hold the fort by herself longer than their usual lunch time allowance a few times. Not that she minds. It just gave her an excuse to do go out for lunch with Jo sometimes, too.

   “He’d like that,” Sam says from his table. He’s clearly been listening in on them, but he doesn’t look too bothered about letting them know. “Don’t look at me like that. Dean likes you. He doesn’t really say these things, but I know he’d appreciate a friendly face.”

   “Yes,” says Cas. He looks nervous.

   “He won’t bite,” says Sam. “Unless you ask, I’m sure.”

   Charlie doesn’t think she’s ever seen Castiel Novak blush before.

* * *

   They go to the Roadhouse together, for three reasons.

   The first is Jo. Obviously. Charlie’s still in that phase of being in love where she wants to spend every possible minute with the other woman, and she hopes she’ll never get out of that phase.

   Second—Dean is her friend, too. There’s something about his ways that’s so protective it makes her feel like she’s got a big brother, and as an only child, she rather likes it.

   Finally… Well, it’s not all for good reasons. She’s not perfect. She still believes there’s something about Cas that no one knows about, and she’s determined to find out what it is. (And yes, she has considered the option that she’s just going totally insane from watching too many weird tv shows, but—well, no but. She has no excuses. It just feels like she’s right on this one.)

   “Hey, guys!”

   “Hello, Jo,” Cas says. Charlie just beams. She can’t get up and kiss her girlfriend at work—or in front of Jo’s mother, because as great as Ellen can be, she’s still kinda scary—but just seeing the blonde makes Charlie happy. “How’s it going?”

   “Slow day,” Jo says. “But it’s alright. It’s too hot to have to run around serving grumpy customers, anyway.”

   She’s not wrong. It feels like the hottest spring they’ve had in years. Charlie never realised how much she likes airconditioning until she stepped out of the library yesterday afternoon.

   “Anyway, what can I get you two?”

   “The usual,” Cas says.

   “You know, it’s not really a usual when you’re barely over anymore,” says Jo. She’s smiling as she says it, but there’s no doubt that she means it. “You’re lucky I’ve got a good memory.”

   “I apologise.”

   “Don’t worry about it. I’ll send Dean with your drinks.”

   “Thank you.”

   Jo snorts, but rather than saying something, she just turns on her heels and walks off. Charlie will swear she did her best not to shoot a look at the girl’s excellent backside, but, well.

   “So,” Charlie says when Jo is out of earshot. “Dean. How’s it going with that?” 

   Cas frowns. “You’ll see ‘that’ in a moment.”

   “I mean between you and him, Cas.”

   He tries to look confused, but she isn’t fooled. Of course, it doesn’t help that she knows exactly what happened the first time those two met, but even if she hadn’t known—anyone with eyes can see they’re into each other. 

   “It’s… complicated.”

   “Ew,” she says with a snort, but Cas doesn’t seem to say it as some bad joke. “Why, anyway? Because of what happened before? I thought you guys got over that.” She narrows her eyes. “It’s not because he’s a guy, right? I mean, that didn’t scare you off then, but I guess it’s different now—but you’re also having lunch with a flaming—” she points jokingly at her red hair “—homosexual, so...”

   “Is this some kind of weird coming out speech you’re doing?” says a new voice next to their table. “Because then I might need to work on my _oh my god I had no idea_ face.”

   “Shut up, Dean,” Charlie says easily. She doesn’t miss the flash of terror on Castiel’s face, though.

   “Alright, alright, don’t sweat it. Just thought I should tell you.” He’s grinning as he’s putting their drinks in front of them. “How’s it going, guys? Feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

   “Not much news from us, I don’t think. Library’s less busy than usual, what with the holidays and all. How’s work with Benny?”

   “Promising,” Dean says. “I mean, I ain’t no chef, but… I might wanna be. The guy’s taken some real chances taking me on, but I like to think it’s paying off.”

   “Has he let you in on his burger recipe yet?”

   Dean laughs. “Top secret,” he says, “but I’ll make you guys some one day.”

   “When all this shit is over, to celebrate.”

   “Yeah, something like that.”

   Cas hasn’t said a word in all this time. He’s just staring at Dean like… she’d say  _realising something_ , but that isn’t it. Whatever he’s thinking about, he looks like he’s known it for a while—he just hasn’t considered doing anything real with it before. 

_Ask him out_ , she tells Cas in her head.  _Come on, he’s not gonna say no._

   “Do you know when that would be, approximately?”

   “Erm—well—I was gonna ask—the last evaluation is Thursday—you think you can make that?”

   He says all of that very fast. Charlie’s pretty sure Dean  _wasn’t_ gonna ask (he’s not actually looking either of them in the eye), but Cas smiles and says, “Of course, Dean.” And then, to everyone’s surprise: “Would you like to go out, after? With me?”

   “Are you asking me on a date, Cas?”

   “I think so, yes,” says Cas.

   “Oh,” says Dean. “Okay.”

   “Okay?”

   “Okay. Let’s go on a date.”

   Bloody hopeless, the both of them.

   She asks Cas, later, what was supposedly so complicated about all that. They’re all alone again, walking away from the Roadhouse towards Cas’s house—and Charlie’s considering inviting herself in for a while because his place has airconditioning while her own is hotter than Satan’s asscrack. Seriously, if she hears one more comment about how global warming isn’t real, she’s going to confiscate every single climate control machine that person owns and lock them in her apartment, the assholes.

   Cas isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at the ground, and it’s not because there’s anything particularly interesting to see there—it’s just sidewalk. “You wouldn’t understand.”

   “Try me.”

   “I’m old, Charlie.”

   “Dude,” she says, “you’re, like, twenty.”

   “Yes. ‘Like’ twenty.”

   She stops in her tracks. Cas still isn’t looking at her. “Dude,” she says again.

   “I believe I told you you wouldn’t—”

   “Can you just look at me for a second?”

   Because she’s thought this before, hasn’t she? His eyes look so old, like they don’t belong to someone who’s her own age. And looking into those bright blue eyes right now… Let’s say it doesn’t change those thoughts at all. 

   He looks tired. But not tired the way Charlie herself looks when she hasn’t had enough sleep in a while, or the way Dean does, from feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s deeper, but she can’t describe even to herself what exactly is so different about it. Just that it is. 

   “How old are you, Cas?”

   “Twenty.”

   She makes a rather undignified sound that is most definitely not a snort. If he’s going to play it like that… “How long have you been twenty?”

   “I’m not a vampire.”

   “Glad you caught on to that terrible reference, but that’s not an answer.”

   He’s staring at the ground again, and he’s moving—as though walking away can keep her from asking these questions now. But he’s not trying to outrun her. It’s a slow pace, and he lets her catch up without making an effort otherwise. 

   It’s really hard not to push, but she doesn’t.

   “A long time,” he says after a while. “I’ve been twenty for a very long time.”

   Heaven help her, she believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie demanded her own chapter. I couldn't deny her.
> 
> Come follow me on my new [Tumblr](http://asexualfeministagenda.tumblr.com)!


	6. VI: The Middle, Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean demanded the time to grieve for his father, so I allowed him it.

 

   When Thursday comes around, no one is as nervous as Charlie, which is odd because she’s the only one not actively involved in this whole crap. Dean’s not entirely sure why she’s as jittery as she is, but then—as much as he loves her—he’s never really understood the girl.

   Sam claims he’s not nervous at all, that he knows it’s gonna go fine and that the next thing they’ll hear is he’s got the clear to stay with Dean, but he can’t stop worrying his lip and he keeps reaching for his hair when he thinks no one is looking. Dean doesn’t take it as a lack of faith, though. Sam means what he says. But they both know that they’ve been dealt shitty hands before, and even those times that they haven’t, it’s never meant anything. They’ve learned a long time ago that they shouldn’t assume anything.

   Cas says he isn’t nervous, either, but there’s _something_ he’s worried about. Dean wonders if it’s the date they’ll go on if this goes well. He’s pretty sure he would be more nervous about that himself if it weren’t for this evaluation thing, because he _has_ to pass this. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t.

   (A date, though. With a guy. Had anyone told him a year ago that this would happen, he would’ve laughed in their face. Dean didn’t do dates with guys. Just sex. He wasn’t ever going to trust a man with himself after all that. Except, apparently, he does.)

   “Any reason you’re completely getting rid of your nails there, Red?”

   “Oh,” Charlie says, hiding her hands. “No. You’re gonna do fine. They’d be stupid not to see you can do this just fine, Dean, and I know Benny thinks you’re a fast learner so that’s a good sign, too.”

   “So?”

   “So nothing.”

   “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met, Bradbury.”

   “It’s not you, it’s me.”

   “Gross, Charles,” says Dean. “I know this is very dramatic and all, but we don’t live in a soap opera.”

   “Coulda fooled me.”

 _You and me both,_ Dean doesn’t admit out loud.

   But they needn’t have worried, because the day goes surprisingly well.

   Which, looking back, should have been a sure sign that it would all go to hell not long after. And frankly, Dean should’ve known it would be him who would ruin it.

   The thing is, it’s not like they’ve never done this before, him and Cas. They’ve gone out for food and drinks with just the two of them a number of times, and it’s never been _weird_ . But it’s also never been _a date._

   That shouldn’t make so much of a difference, but it does. Honestly, Dean should be happy right now. Benny’s happy with him and CPS is content with him and Cas _likes_ him—

   But he’s not. Happy. Hell, he’s not even _hungry_. He’s just staring at his plate wondering why the hell he thought it’d be a good idea to order a cheeseburger (answer: because it’s always a good idea to order a cheeseburger), and he’s aware of Cas talking but he’s not hearing a word of it.

_He should be happy._

   That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He should be happy, because he’s got a decent job now—never has to go back to that street corner, if he does it well—but wasn’t it too easy? Despite all the searching, all the applications, all the rejections, it still feels like it was too easy. Dean hasn’t got any diplomas. If it were at all possible for him to hold a proper job, why didn’t he just do it before? Why’d he chance the wrath of his father if he hadn’t needed to?

   Because John would’ve been _pissed_ . Never mind that it was his fault they never had enough money, Dean was putting himself out there, in danger, not just for people to use his body but _men_ , and the thought of John finding out was always even scarier than the very real possibility that a client might hurt him—beyond the usual, anyway. Here’s two black eyes and a broken nose, Dean, and you never get to see Sammy again, you disgusting fag—

   “Dean.”

   He realises he’s crying. Goddamn it, this was supposed to be a happy evening. They were going to have their favourite burgers for dinner, and a few drinks at home, maybe watch a movie (Cas hasn’t seen close to enough movies for Dean’s liking), and then they’d share a slightly awkward goodnight kiss before they’d go to bed (separately)—giddy like fourteen-year-olds.

   “Dean, it’s alright.” Cas’s hands enclose around Dean’s—he’s gripping his utensils so tightly it almost hurts—and it’s actually surprisingly soothing. “It’s going to be alright.”

   “It’s—It’s not you,” Dean whispers. “I swear, Cas—”

   “I know,” Cas says gravely. “You haven’t had the time to grieve. I’m sorry.”

   To grieve?

   He’s not grieving though, is he?

   “—lost… so much,” Cas is saying. “Not just your father, any chance for a normal childhood. And I am so sorry.”

   “’s Not your fault, Cas,” Dean mutters, wiping angrily at his tears. Dean Winchester doesn’t cry, especially (at least) not in public. “Not like you made me do it.”

   “No circumstances should have made you feel like you had to do it,” Cas says. “You are allowed to grieve for your past. But the past is not the present, and I think things are looking up, are they not?”

   “Well—yeah—probably.”

   “That’s a start,” says Cas, smiling a little. “Let’s go home.”

   “You haven’t touched your food.”

   “We’ll ask the waitress to wrap it for us.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Dean. I should have realised this was not a good time. I do not blame you for anything.”

 _Two black eyes and a broken nose._ Dean imagines his Dad’s reaction to his dating a guy, even if he’d never find out about the whole hooking thing. He still can’t imagine anything but punches. Hell, Dean’s had enough terrible experiences with men—he never thought he’d trust one ever again. He couldn’t trust his Dad, and he couldn’t trust anyone he ever got into a car with…

   (He ignores the first part of that thought, because dammit, Dean, that’s your father you’re thinking about.)

   (But it’s true, isn’t it?)

   By the time he’s dragged himself out of that jumble of thoughts, Cas has paid the bill and let their waitress wrap up their food for them to eat at home later. Dean doesn’t apologise again. He’s awfully tired.

   They’re both quiet on the drive home. It’s not until they’ve sat silently in front of the house for a while—the house that Dean grew up in, that he’s going to sell soon so they can move to something smaller and more affordable because hell knows he and Sam don’t need so much space between the two of them—that Dean finally breaks and blurts, “What if I can never be a good boyfriend to you?”

   Cas blinks. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting that. To be fair, neither was Dean.

   “Do you not want to be? My partner?”

   “No, I do.” Fuck, he does. He doesn’t know why this crashed into him now—maybe it was Cas’s patience with him tonight—but for some reason it’s never been clearer that he’d like to give this a shot. This whole ‘normal life’ thing, where he has a normal job that he can talk about to people, and a normal place to live where he can take people without having to find excuses for either his father’s absence or his anger, and a normal relationship where he can fall asleep next to someone without worrying for his agency, his money, or his life.

   John will be rolling in his grave by now. (Dean hates himself for thinking that. His Dad’s _dead_. Somehow Dean’s always held out a shred of hope that they would be a happy family again, and now all they’ll ever be is resentful and broken, because they never got to fix it.) But he doesn’t have to worry about John, does he?

   He just has to worry about Cas.

   “Cas, I can’t—You know what I used to do.”

   “Yes.” It’s a statement without any judgement.

   “I can’t—I don’t know if I can—” He lets out a deep breath. “Cas, I don’t know if I can sleep with you.”

   “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell another soul?”

   “Erm...”

   “I believe I am what people these days call ‘asexual’,” says Cas. “Everyone around me found their soulmate, and I did not. I waited for her to come around, but she never did. Then I considered it might be a him, but I never felt the spark my brethren told me about with any man, either. Yet they all met someone, and grew old, and died.”

   “Cas, what the hell—”

   “I started wondering if I would never find anyone,” Cas continues as though Dean hasn’t interrupted him at all. “If I would wander this world forever, all alone, while everyone that I cared about moved on.”

   It sounds pretty dramatic, but there’s real pain in his eyes. He’s not looking at Dean; he’s looking straight ahead, as though he sees something in the street that Dean cannot see. “Anna… Balthazar… Gabriel...” He closes his eyes and sighs. “It does not matter—you do not know them. I wish you could have.”

   “No offense, man, but you’re starting to worry me.”

   “There used to be magic in this world, Dean.”

   “Like… Harry Potter-magic?”

   “Nothing like Harry Potter magic.” Cas still isn’t looking at Dean. Dean wonders if his breakdown made something snap inside Cas, too, because he’s not making any sense, and it’s kinda worrying. “A much older kind of magic. Like soulmates.”

   “Yeah, you know that’s kind of romantic crap that Hollywood came up with, right?” Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, we can go eat those burgers at our place. We can order a pizza for Sam if he hasn’t yet, show you some decent movies without all that crap. Have you seen Raiders of the Lost Ark yet?”

   Cas sighs, and he almost seems to deflate with it. “We can watch it, if you want.”

   He gets out of the car before Dean does, and all Dean can think is, _What the hell happened tonight?_

   “Is everything alright?” Sam asks when they come in a lot earlier than expected. “I thought you were having a whole dinner and date kind of thing—oh, shit. Did it not go okay? Should I leave?”

   “Shut up and give me a piece of that pizza,” says Dean.

   “Only if I get your fries. That is food in that bag, isn’t it?”

   “Fine,” says Dean. “Sit down, Cas.”

   “Seriously guys, I can leave—”

   “I said shut up, Sam.”

   When did it get like this? Just this morning, they were doing fine, the whole gang—sure, they were all worrying their asses off, but at least everything between them was normal. And then Dean just had to go have a breakdown in the middle of a goddamn restaurant and ruin everything, because that’s what he does, isn’t it? Ruin things.

   Cas is saying something to Sam, and then Sam is getting up and walking away with his pizza box even though Dean told him to give him a slice first. “I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly. “I should not have made tonight about me.”

   “No offense, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

   “Back there in the car...” Cas shakes his head. “There is something about me that you need to know, and I thought it might be a good moment to tell you. I was wrong.”

   “You just weren’t making any sense back there.”

   “I’m asexual,” Cas says again, but without a trace of hesitance this time.

   Dean's heart is sinking. Dean’s never really understood that expression until now, but it actually feels like there’s a physical weight in his chest that wasn’t there before, and it’s very slowly making its way down. Considering he never even started on his burger back at the diner, he’s pretty sure it isn’t food. “You don’t gotta say that, Cas.”

   “I know.” At some point, they both made it to the couch. Dean can’t seem to remember when that happened, even though it can’t have been more than ten minutes ago. It feels a lot longer. It feels like they’ve been having this conversation for years. “Dean, can I—”

   He doesn’t finish that sentence, but he’s holding out his hand, and Dean—feeling more than a little awkward—holds out his own. Cas takes it. He doesn’t do much else with it, but like at the diner, the warmth is somehow comforting.

   “You know,” says Dean, “I never thought I’d want to be with a guy. I mean, Dad certainly wouldn’t have wanted me to.” The weight in his chest is starting to feel more than a little like a brick now. “Guess I better get used to that no longer being an issue, huh?”

   Cas squeezes his hand. It’s gross and girly and awfully comforting.

   “I mean, I thought I liked girls, anyway. I never really thought about it. ‘s not like I had the time for a girlfriend, did I? And… and it’s usually guys who come pick you up.”

   It’s an admission of something, and he’s not sure if he wants Cas to catch onto it. He shouldn’t have had to learn all the things he did out on the streets. He should’ve gotten to learn them with a guy like Cas, or what he imagines Cas to be like, anyway. The only time they were actually in a bedroom together doesn’t exactly count, and even then… even then he’d wondered why Cas didn’t want to touch him, or for Dean to touch Cas.

   “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” is all Cas says.

   “Yeah, me too. Sorry I'm such a mess, Cas.”

   “I’d be more worried if you were completely alright. Do not feel guilty for what life has put you through. It isn’t always fair, but you have done the best you can. Now, what do you say we start on these burgers? I’ve heard they are excellent. Although I bet Benny would have something to say about that.”

   Dean laughs. “Nothing can beat Benny’s burgers, but man, I’m glad that’s not where we went. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It’s not like I didn’t know you’re a guy beforehand or anything, right?”

   “I think it was just the stress,” says Cas. “I believe looking at Harrison Ford for a few hours should help.”

   “Damn right,” Dean says.

* * *

 

   They dance around the issue—and each other—for a while. With the amount of hours Dean puts into work, it’s not that hard a thing to do. He hates himself for it, and he thinks Sam hates him a little for it (“You’re allowed to have good things, Dean”), but it’s the easy way out and dammit, he’s taking it. For now.

   Cas lets him. Maybe he’s afraid Dean’s gonna have another breakdown. Dean most certainly is. He’s gonna have to talk to the guy again soon, though, if Cas still wants him to. He’s not planning to burden the guy with the pathetic story of his life any more, but at least he doesn’t have to be so careful around Cas.

   And he really kinda wants a proper date.

   Dad’s dead. It doesn’t matter if he was ever going to give Dean that broken nose if he found out, because he’s never going to.

   It’s a disgusting thought, and he hates himself for thinking it, but that doesn’t make it less true.

   “I’m sorry,” Dean says, not sure what exactly it is he’s saying it for. _I’m sorry I did dangerous and illegal things, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry you never got to meet Cas. I’m sorry I’m never going to be able to introduce him to you as my boyfriend, and I’m sorry for being kind of glad that I don’t have to._

   The stone that marks John in death is only slightly more cold and unforgiving than the man was in life.

   “I wish things would’ve been different,” Dean tells him. “I know—I think I remember you before, Dad. Sometimes I think I remember us throwing a ball around, and I remember Mom’s apple pie, and how proud you were when you held Sammy.” There’s a single tear that managed to escape his eye now rolling down his cheek. He doesn’t care. “I think I remember that, but it’s been so long. That’s who you should have been. I know Mom’s death was hard on you, but that’s the guy you should’ve stayed for us.”

   He’s never said this out loud. Hell, he’s barely ever thought these words, too afraid of the truth they hold.

   “I love you,” Dean says. “But you sucked.”

   The stone marker isn’t moved. Dean tries to imagine it’s not an inanimate object, but his Dad right there in front of him. His Dad who he’s just told everything.

 _I’m sorry,_ Not John Winchester says, and Dean is torn between straightening his back and saying _‘s alright, Sir,_ and muttering _fuck that_ under his breath. He does neither. This John Winchester isn’t real.

   Dean’s looking up at him, but Not John isn’t looking back. He’s looking at the ground, as though he’s ashamed of himself.

 _I’m sorry for putting the world on your shoulders,_ he says in Dean’s head. _I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to do those things. Thank you for taking care of Sammy, Dean. You shouldn’t have had to, but you did that, and I’m proud of you._

   It’s not real. Dead men tell no tales, and John Winchester doesn’t feel sorry about things. But Dean closes his eyes and lets himself go over the words again, and then another time, and imagines his father looking like he means them—imagines a tear falling down his face the way he can feel another one rolling down his own cheek.

   It doesn’t make things okay.

   But it makes them a little bit better.

   After everything, he can work with that.


	7. VII: The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endings are hard. I think it's because nothing ever really ends. These guys will go on to live their happily ever after, and they will have excellent adventures and happy stories that this one refuses to tell. But sometimes that's just what it is. I hope I did it right.

   In the beginning, a long, long time ago, Castiel imagined finding his soulmate to be a little like this: He’d feel that spark people said they always felt, and the other person (back then, he still imagined this to be a girl) would feel it too, and they would look at each other and smile and go for a long walk somewhere to get to know each other and watch the sunset.

   Or something equally easy and romantic, at least.

   It could be like that, the way Hannah found her partner; or at a party, locking eyes with someone at the other side of the room and feeling a pull telling you you  _had_ to go talk to them (though parties had always been more Balthazar’s thing, not Castiel’s); or in the middle of nowhere with no one around while on a hike (an activity no one initially believed either Gabriel or Kali to enjoy at all). 

   He had imagined it to take a few years, because Castiel was always rather introverted and didn’t go around meeting new people just because he felt like it—a habit he’d tried to shake in the long years alone before he’d given up on it again. He’d just meet people who  _weren’t_ his soulmate, people he’d eventually have to leave behind one way or another.

   In  _this_ beginning, it’s gone a little different.

   There’s a good chance his soulmate is never going to believe that they have a more profound bond than most others. Cas expected for that to hurt, but it doesn’t—not much. It doesn’t hurt, because it doesn’t matter.

   “Of course it matters,” says Charlie. “That’s a part of you, Cas, you can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

   “I am not,” Cas says, frowning slightly.

   “Technicalities.”

   “Not everyone is as willing to believe as you are.”

   “Just tell him your story the way you told me. If he can still look you in the eyes and say he doesn’t believe you after that, he’s not your soulmate, dude.”

* * *

   Castiel is old. It doesn’t matter he doesn’t look it; he feels it. He has seen humanity try (and fail) to find ways to live forever, and wondered what it is about immortality that appeals so much. Perhaps it is not so bad to live forever if those you love are by your side—but as much as Castiel misses Balthazar and Gabriel sometimes, spending a good part of one lifetime with them was quite enough.

   Man’s quest to eternal life has nothing to do with life. A longer time spent on earth does not necessarily equal a longer time truly lived. There is only so much world to explore—growing old and dying is just a part of the adventure. That’s what Anna told him, at least.

   That sounds far too philosophical, though.

   He could use anecdotes. There are quite a few things Castiel has seen that only someone who  was their could sketch vividly—or a good writer.

   He’s met a few people who were quite famous in their time (or would go on to become famous), although he knows that without proof, Dean could dismiss those stories as fantasy rather easily. He could describe in vivid detail what the Great Depression was like, how he tried as well as he could to share his wealth without raising suspicions until even that was useless, and he has plenty of stories like it that any good historical writer could relay after some research.

   There are plenty of options, but none of those seem like they would convince Dean, not at this point. Perhaps later.  If Dean believes him.

   “There were times where I was afraid I might kill myself,” is what he finally admits to Dean, who has not stopped looking slightly sceptical. “The only part about that which was truly scary, was the part where that thought did not scare me at all.”

   “Cas...”

   “I used to think Soulmate magic was something beautiful, but it placed the goal before the journey—quite literally.” He shakes his head, takes a deep and shaky breath. He hasn’t told anyone his secret in so long, it’s terrifying to do it now, twice in a short time. But Charlie was right, Dean needs to know. “I did not believe I would ever get to the goal that used to be so important, and thus I did not believe I would ever truly get to start the journey that matters.”

   “What’s that?” Dean asks honestly.

   “Life,” Cas says simply. “You once wondered why I enjoyed being a librarian as much as I do. I believe that a library is full with the only kind of magic that is good and true. It’s full of journeys. Of lives to live.” He can barely remember the last time he’s cried, and he isn’t about to do it now, but his throat does feel constricted and he’s quite sure Dean can see _something_ in his eyes that may not be tears but indicate the same.

   “Cas,” Dean says again, and then neither of them say anything else because there isn’t much else to say. Castiel, at least, knows he can’t say much else or he will drown in those feelings he had at exactly those times, when all hope appeared to be lost. His hope now is sitting right next to him.

   Except it isn’t. It’s kneeling right in front of him, looking him straight in the eye with a sadness that wasn’t there before, mouth moving as though looking for words but unable to find them—

   And then it’s no longer hope.

   Then it’s knowledge.

   It’s soft lips on his own and knowing that he was right, this is not the goal, not the end-all-be-all of life—it is the beginning of something fun and difficult and wonderful and painful, but ultimately most of all something fulfilling. It’s not sparks flying like in the books but something much more incredible; a feeling right in his chest that he also felt when he told Charlie his story and she believed him, except a lot stronger.

   “You’re gonna need to give me some time, man,” Dean says when he pulls back. “With all that, I mean.”

   “It’s not the easiest thing to believe,” Cas says.

   “Yeah,” says Dean, “but I mean—that you felt like that. That sucks, Cas.”

   Castiel is well aware of that. “It’s alright.”

   “Naw.” Dean shakes his head, and for a moment he gets a faraway look in his eyes that Cas assumes means he’s thinking about his own past. “It’s not. But we could be, I think.”

   “We will be,” Cas agrees.

   Right here, right now, he imagines finding his soulmate a little like this: Driving around town late at night, accidentally looking a male prostitute right in the eyes and feeling a rush of embarrassment and shock. Trying to take him to a hotel room only to freak them both out. Finding the courage to try again because this might be his one and only chance.

   And knowing at least that everyone was right in at least one respect: that nothing compares.

* * *

   In the beginning, there was hope, and friendship, and a belief in true love of the romantic kind. All those things had slowly been taken away from Castiel, until there was nothing left—of those things, and of  _him_ along with them.

   Then he met Charlie, and Sam, and Dean, and they gave him back all those things and more. They gave him another beginning. And, he thinks with a look at the man he knows to be his Soulmate whether by magic or otherwise, they gave Dean one, too. They got the chance to start living his life the way they should live it, both at the same time.

   Perhaps there is still some magic left in the world after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me ❤ I re-started the show yesterday from the end of S11 (then realised I did watch the start of S12, hated it, and quit...). But I miss the show and I miss beating myself up over this ship, and I kinda hope that it'll inspire me a bit more again, because I miss writing, too.
> 
> Anyway. I re-started Tumblr, too, but I lost absolutely everything I made and everyone I used to follow, so [come find me there](http://asexualfeministagenda.tumblr.com)!


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